


My Drug Of Choice

by MasterSatanOverlord



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Death, Cigarette Usage, M/M, Nurse Eren Yeager, Self-Destruction, Self-Medication, Smoker Jean, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-18 00:05:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11862477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterSatanOverlord/pseuds/MasterSatanOverlord
Summary: When Jean's long time boyfriend dies in a plane crash, how will he manage to cope? Will he accept help from the, extraordinarily attractive Nurse Jaeger, who used to know Marco? Or will he turn to more self-destructive coping mechanisms? This story will contain Jearco and Jeren (meaning: YAOI!) and, obviously, character death.





	1. Skype

Sitting at a small table just outside the little café in the airport, I open the little blue Skype app, waiting the few moments it takes to load, I tap my fingertips against the plastic tabletop. I plug in my earbuds and tap on Jean's icon once I'm able and call him. Angling my phone so my face is visible, I grin when he accepts and I see his face appear as well. "Jean!" I call into the microphone portion of the earbuds.

"Marco, baby! How's it going?"

"I'm going to be getting on the plane in about fifteen minutes, then only a little over an hour before I'm back home!" It had been almost a whole year since I had last seen my boyfriend in person, and I was excited to be getting home again, I missed him and the rest of my friends.

"Fuck yeah! It's been way too long." His face lights up, causing my smile to spread wider.

"Well, I better go. See you in an hour!"

"Of course! I'll be waiting for you!" After we say our goodbyes, I close out of the app quickly finish my coffee. After arriving at the Departure Hall it's only about five minutes before I'm loaded onto the plane and not long after we're up in the air on our way to Portland.

I nervously check the time again, it hasn't even been a minute yet. I run a hand through my hair and sigh, toying with the bouquet of merry bells, Marco's favorite. My phone suddenly begins ringing, without checking the caller ID, I answer. "Hello?"

"Hello, Mr. Kirschtein? My name is Erica Dominguez, with Legacy Emanuel Hospital? It appears you're listed as Marco Bodt's emergency contact. Mr. Bodt was checked into our trauma center earlier today." My world stopped. Crashed down. I click my phone off and run out of the airport, leaving the flowers behind as I sprint to my car.

The drive to the hospital is a blur and it seems like seconds later I'm at the hospital. Crashing my way to the reception desk, I gasp for breath, trying to force out words before I'm able. "M-Marco Bodt... Wh-where is he?" I heave in a gasping gulp of air between each word.

"Your name please?" The receptionist looks worried but continues anyway.

"Kirschtein. Jean Kirschtein." She nods before clicking around on her keyboard.

"I'm going to need to see some photo ID please." I fumble for my wallet and manage to pull out my driver's license. "Right. Room 825." I nod before taking off in that direction. Soon I'm just outside the room. It's not in the ER or ICU, so I take that as a good sign. I pause to breathe, if he's here, he's fine. Raising a hand, I knock briskly on the door. A moment later, it swings open to reveal an average height male probably around my age with medium golden brown hair and heterochromia iridium, resulting in one eye being a brilliant bright green blue, a shade I'd never seen an eye before without the aid of contacts, the other light golden amber like molten honey.

"Jean Kirschtein? Marco seems to be doing fine, just some mild scrapes and bruises, a slight concussion." He flips through a few paper secured on a clipboard.

"So doc, can I see him." The man looks up seemingly confused, looking around the hall searchingly before pointing to himself.

"You mean me?" He gives a short laugh. "I'm no doctor. Just a nurse. But yeah, though he won't be able to go home until tomorrow. You know, evaluation, just in case, et cetera. But you have a few hours left for visiting." With that, he gave a smile, put the clipboard in the soft plastic holder hooked on the wall and walked off. I take another few calming breaths before pushing open the door, my eyes automatically going for the tall, freckled brunet sitting on the fake leather bench 'bed' covered with a strip of wax paper and an almost transparent piece of cardboard as a pillow, looking down at his hands and playing with his fingers.

"Hey, Marco." His head snaps up immediately and his lips curl up into a grin.

"Jean!" Before I can brace myself, he throws himself at me, arms around me in a millisecond, I stumble a bit but as my arms go instinctively around his waist and pull him closer I'm able to steel myself enough to accept his greeting. Kissing his forehead, I squeeze him tightly against me before letting him down again, setting him on the 'bed', but never letting him out of reach, keeping a hand on him at all times.

"Fuck, I was so worried!" I pull him into my lap, burying my face in his hair and taking in the scent that was so uniquely his own.

A couple hours after Jean was shooed out at nine o'clock, I was still awake thanks to the dose of epinephrine injected to my thigh. My throat felt dry, so I stretched out to reach the pitcher of water and cup on the bedside table. Coughing, my hands automatically go to cover my mouth, a searing pain enters my chest and throat, my fingers and palms suddenly feel wet, a thick, hot liquid splatter on them, breathing becomes more difficult, and my tongue could taste something metallic. After the coughing fit was done, I glance down at my hands and my eyes widen at the red substance covering them. Coughing takes over my body again and I fight to get to the small bathroom attached to the room, feeling my stomach churning. I barely make it to the bathroom before my stomach's contents spill from my throat, into the toilet bowl. Kneeling down in front of the toilet, I grip onto it as I heave again, saliva and puke running down my chin and down the front of my throat. When I finally feel as though my stomach is settled enough, I go to flush and notice that most of what had just left my body was blood. My head spun and suddenly, I was collapsing onto the floor, unable to move, everything was black.

When I wake up in the morning, there's a new voice message left on my phone from an unsaved number. Dread builds up in my heart as I click on it, listening. I don't even bother getting dressed, I grab my wallet and keys, shove my feet into my shoes and rush out the door, barely pausing to lock it.

Once I get to the hospital, the same woman is at the front desk I begin rushing straight to her, but before I make it to her desk, the nurse from yesterday is entering the room and I change direction mid-charge. When I make it to the man, I look at him desperately. "Marco Bodt." As soon as I say the name, his face drops a bit and so does my heart. "Where is he? Tell me he's okay." I somehow managed to speak clearly without stuttering or gasping for air. He steers me over to some of the chairs, sitting me in one of them.

"Jean, right? Marco… It appears he had punctured a lung and suffered a lot of internal bleeding, we somehow didn't catch it. We found him this morning… I'm sorry, he… He didn't make it." As those words sunk in and clicked, I dropped to my knees, almost disbelieving, as sobs wracked my body and fat, hot tears stung my eyes and burned my cheeks. I cried, for the first time since my middle school years, harder than ever before. And suddenly, I was glad I was the only one in the lobby at the moment. I wouldn't have been able to handle more piteous stares than the ones already thrown my way from the receptionist.

"I'm sorry Jean, I have to go back to work now. But if you want, we can hang out sometime. I was friends with Marco in high school…" He hands me a piece of paper. Scrawled in sloppy handwriting is the name Eren Jaeger and a phone number.


	2. Messenger

I sit in my apartment, looking down at the paper with the scribbled letters and numbers. I hadn't yet programmed it into my phone. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to contact this Eren. He said he went to high school with Marco, but I wasn't really feeling up to talking to anyone. I had only been a couple days and I just wanted to wallow in the depression. It didn't feel real yet. It didn't seem possible that the light and happiness that was Marco Bodt was really gone. I pick up the bottle on the table in front of me, putting it to my lips and pulling in a deep drink of the amber liquid inside. I wince a bit at the taste. I wasn't really a beer person but it was all I had. The only thing I could use to numb the pain.

I crumble up the scrap of paper in my hand, throwing toward the garbage can. It bounces harmlessly off the lid and I frown at it. I set down the brown bottle of Budweiser. I lean down to properly throw away the ball of paper. As I stand up again, the blood rushes up and I have to grab onto the counter to resume my balance. I groan a bit and step on the pedal to lift the lid before throwing away the bit of paper. I pick up my bottle again and move down the narrow hall to my room. I down the rest of my beer quickly and lay down, covering myself with the thin layer of cloth that is my blanket. My phone buzzes. I look down at it.

[Connie:] Hey dude, wanna go out tonight? A new club just opened up off Main.

[Jean:] when?

[Connie:] Around 10..?

[Jean:] sure

I didn't particularly want to go, but I would be able to drink and maybe get my mind off things. I set an alarm and plug in my phone before I close my eyes, allowing myself rest after two days of sleeplessness. It had been too long since I last slept and lay in blackness until the shrill ringing of my phone wakes me.

I shut off the alarm and sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I slowly stand, walking to the bathroom to quickly clean up before getting dressed. I check my phone for the time and see a new message, received just a moment ago.

[Connie:] Want us to pick you up?

[Jean:] are you over here?

Connie and Sasha share an apartment about half an hour away and I didn't want to ask that of them when it would most likely be a detour.

[Connie:] Yeah, just down the street actually.

[Jean:] sure, thanks

I turn off the screen of my phone and make my way down the stairs to the front of the building to meet up with the two.

"Thanks, guys," I say as I slide into the back seat just a moment later.

"Sure thing bud," Connie replies as he pulls away from the curb and starts on the to this new club. I roll my eyes at the endearment and I know they only offered a ride because they knew I'd be drinking.

And drink I did. A lot.

The next morning I woke up with a throbbing headache, but I was in my own bed. I guess someone was keeping a close eye on me. I can't remember much of the night before, at least not after my seventh shot of tequila. I groan, pulling a pillow over my head to block out the light of the sun filtering through the window across the room. My phone buzzes, vibrating against the wooden floor, still trapped in the pocket of my pants. I choose to ignore it but it keeps vibrating and it's too loud, worsening my already throbbing headache. I groan again as I reach an arm off my bed and drag the pants closer to me so I can retrieve the phone. I manage to fumble it out from the cloth fabric before retreating back under my blanket as I look at the screen to answer.

"Hello..?" I whisper into the mouth piece. I hadn't bothered looking to see who it was.

"Jean! How are you doing?" Is the too loud response from Sasha. I groan in pain and hold the phone out away from my ear.

I continue whispering as I speak with her. "Completely hung-over. Please be quiet." I put the phone back to my ear as she lowers her voice with her apology.

"Do you need anything? Gatorade, coffee, ibuprofen?" Her voice is softer when she isn't yelling and I shake my head before realizing she can't see me.

"I'm alright. Just going to sleep a bit."

"Alright… Let us know if you need anything though. You did drink a lot last night… You out-lasted Annie." If my headache wasn't so bad, I might have smiled. Annie was a tiny thing but she could drink with the best of them. Once Sasha has left me in silence again, I can't manage to fall back asleep. I make my way to the kitchen and start the coffee maker, brewing just enough. As the dark liquid begins to drip into the glass pot, I pull out the toaster to make myself toast. I was hungry dammit.

As I sit at the table with dead eyes, crunchy bread consumed and already on my second mug of coffee, my mind comes back to reality and I didn't like it. I wanted to escape this, that's why I went out last night. Standing with a sigh, I place the now empty mug into the sink before pulling on jeans, a T-shirt, my boots, and my black leather jacket before leaving the empty apartment behind.

There's a small convenience store close by so I decided to go for a walk, finding myself with a craving for the nicotine I had given up for four years because Marco had hated it. I end up purchasing a pack of Marlboros, a double pack of Bic lighters, and a couple energy drinks. After I pay and walk a few feet away, to the nearest ashtray, I open the Marlboros and pull out one of the lighters, catching the end of the cigarette before pulling the smoke into my mouth. I had almost forgotten what the sensation of smoke filling your lungs felt like, what it was to blow it back out and expel the toxins. I breathe in the tainted air deeply, smoking too fast, singing the back of my throat. Once the cigarette is down to the butt I crush it out on the cement tray before walking the short distance back to my apartment.


	3. Movie Night

On my way to Annie, Bertolt, and Reiner's place for our weekly group movie night I take out a cigarette and light it, puffing away at the tobacco filled roll of paper as I make my way down the street. The small blonde live close enough to me that I felt like it was a waste of gas to drive. The outside air is cold feels nice, numbing my body along with my mind. It had only been a week… I shake my head, tossing the butt of my cigarette away and stomping it out as I bring in the last bit of smoke before burning filter. I push my hand through the longer top layer of hair and exhale the nicotine tainted oxygen.

"You know that's bad for you right?" I hear a soft voice from behind me and whirl around to see Annie.

I sneer down at her five-foot self. "You know alcohol is bad for you right?" I shoot back at her, walking past her and into the small house she shared with Bertolt and Reiner. I can hear her quiet scoff and scraping of her shoes against the pavement as she turns to follow me.

"Sure, but at least the smell of alcohol doesn't linger in your clothes and the bottles don't stain your fingers." I roll my eyes at her as I step into the entertainment area, noting that Connie, Sasha, Bertolt, and Reiner were already there along with a small blond I didn't recognize sitting beside the larger blond male, making him seem even smaller.

"That is Armin," Annie says from where she now stood beside me. "I guess he's dating Reiner." I raise an eyebrow and look at the boy. He had clear blue eyes, a slightly upturned nose, very slight build, and with his current expression, he didn't seem like the kind of person who would be able to handle Reiner, but whatever. Who was I to judge?

"What have you guys got to drink?" I ask, walking through the room with the group and moving into the kitchen, raising a hand in a wave as I hear the chorus of greeting. None of them answer and I roll my eyes, pulling open the fridge only to find that one of them had invested in a couple of bottles of Jameson. "Hey! What do you all want?" There are a couple answers of water, a couple of Jameson, and a couple of juice. I eventually bring out the drinks and am shocked to find that Reiner was going dry tonight, joining his boyfriend in his alcohol-free state. I settle into the couch after distributing the rest of the drinks and the movie is started. I don't know who's turn it was to pick, but A Thousand Ways to Die in the West was stupid and I spent more time zoning out, downing liquor, and topping off my glass than actually paying attention to the screen. After my third refill, I could feel eyes on me and I look over to see the blue eyes of Armin, his eyebrows furrowed a bit in what could be construed as concern.

I lift a brow at the shorter blond and he returns his gaze to the screen but after just a few moments, his eyes are back on me. I toss back what's left in my glass and go to the kitchen, filling it again. I set down the bottle and bring my glass to my lips.

"Are you alright..?" I hear being asked from the entrance to the room. I look up and see that it's Armin.

"Fine. Just fucking peachy." I reply, bringing the glass back up to take a long drink. This was now my fifth fairly large, completely full, glass in just half an hour. If I kept drinking like this, I was going to end up drunk again. But I had given up on trying at happiness. The situation was fucked. Drinking wasn't going to make me feel better. Sobriety wasn't either, but at least being hammered would numb me so I couldn't feel the pain.

I finish the glass off quickly and move to the sliding glass door that opens to the back patio and I can hear Armin's soft footsteps following. I sit myself down on the edge of the wooden porch, my legs hanging over the edge as I pull out another cigarette. I hold out the pack to Armin as an offer, his lip curls delicately upward and he shakes his head. I put the box back into my pocket and light the cancer stick dangling precariously from my mouth. "Did you need something?" The smoke pours out of my mouth as I speak.

"I was just worried, I guess." He says, playing with a bit of his light hair and looking up at the sky.

"Why?" He didn't need to be concerned about me. This was the first time I have ever met him

He shrugs before answering. "You're close to the people I care about, so I guess that means I care about you too. By extension. And I don't like anyone hurting, stranger or not."

"Look. I'm fine. Just working through some shit." I say, taking another drag and flicking ashes off the tip.

He lowers his eyes and his hand, looking now at the grass below us. "I heard you really loved Marco." His voice becomes even softer. "That you had known each other your whole lives. He told me a lot about you. And… I know he'd be concerned about you."

I shove the butt of the cigarette into my mouth, sucking in hard and deep, taking in half of the burnt tobacco, pulling it into my lungs much too fast and releasing it again. I grind out the filter and launch myself onto my feet. I know this kid was trying to help, but he wasn't. I didn't want to be lectured on what to do or what Marco would want by a stranger.

"Sorry guys. I gotta go." I say, going back through the house, heading to the front door. I was barely able to contain my rage as I enter the darkness of night and make my way back up the street walking away from the group.


End file.
